


Meeting a Thestral

by CarrieMaxwell



Series: The Hogwart Drabbler: short stories no one asked for [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Death, Fear, First Person Point of View, Flashbacks, Gen, Hagrid - Freeform, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hope, Loneliness, Mourning, Nervousness, Original character point of view, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Reminiscing, Survivor Guilt, Thestrals, comfort in silence, getting hugs from Hagrid, it's ok to not be ok, mention of Luna Lovegood - Freeform, mention of Neville Longbottom - Freeform, mention of Theodore Nott, mention of the Golden Trio, seeing Thestrals for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieMaxwell/pseuds/CarrieMaxwell
Summary: The melancholy thoughts of an 8th year student returning after the war.
Series: The Hogwart Drabbler: short stories no one asked for [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922026
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8





	Meeting a Thestral

**Author's Note:**

> My Dramione mood music playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Z9YpGAOG5YT3X1OMpPVDQ

Coming back to Hogwarts was entirely different this year, on a list that just kept growing by the day, by the hour it seemed. For one, the overwhelming loss of so many innocent lives lost. That list in itself was far too long and sadly, growing, as newspapers were finally able to print the truth without endangerment. It was a list I once had memorized, now it just seemed better to count the stars and pretend to answer that age old question of just how many there were out there.

The entire trip was solemn.

Through Diagon alley for supplies. Through Platform 9 ¾ and into the car on the Hogwarts Express. So many empty seats. So many wistful smiles and lost stares out of windows. So many subdued voices murmuring rather than laughing. Every arm bearing a black band in memento mori despite their House. There isn’t a soul affected.

I sit alone.

I lost too many friends to death. And then there were some who simply did not return. How could I blame them? Some were too traumatized, and others, like the Golden Trio, had been granted positions in the Ministry for their heroic deeds. I don’t blame them for taking the chance to dive right into their careers, helping fix the broken world so the rest of us could feel normal.

Not every Death Eater had been apprehended. They needed steadfast and stalwart Aurors or those capable of filling in the ranks to hunt them down. So much of the Ministry had been tainted by the evil influence that many members had been sacked or resigned, leaving too many gaps in the beau to leave alone. While not a glamorous job, it was one that required a quick wit and brave voice to amend and rewrite policies that now held no sway.

I sigh.

I thought about it too, but there was a nagging curiosity in the back of my head that told me I’d regret it forever if I didn’t attempt to set foot back onto my old school’s grounds. Even if after the first day I decided it’s not for me, at least I could say I returned. I saw it. I breathed in the ghosts of my friends, professors, and enemies and they will forever be a part of me. It was the only goal I had in mind. Tomorrow would set the pace for another goal. Next week would introduce another.

The train lurches forward, causing just the smallest shift in my body to maintain balance as I sit facing the rear. I never turn my back to a doorway now. I am constantly looking around corners, watching shadows, listening for whispers. My body might be healed but my mind is still on the battlefield. My wand never leaves my side; I even take it into the bath. All it takes is one second of not having it nearby, one second of my hesitation, one second of their ambush, and I will be reduced to ashes.

Even tired as I am, I do not allow myself to doze off. The train still moves in the same way, that lullaby rocking that would soothe my weary muscles after parting ways with my parents and leave me feeling secure and safe enough to close my eyes, knowing a friend would shake my shoulder and announce our arrival.

Those friends are no longer here.

I recall my first day. The first time seeing the train, stepping inside and smelling its clean interior. Polished wood and freshly washed cushions. Sweets from the trolley. The oils and steam of a well-run piece of machinery. These are pleasant scents from happier times. Not enough to produce a Patronus, but at least enough to bring a ghost of a smile to my silent lips.

If I close my eyes, I can hear the introductions being made. I feel the hands clasped as friendships formed in an instant. I can hear the running and giggling of wand tag and of escaped familiars causing a ruckus. I distinctly remember the exasperated sighs of Prefects as they rolled their eyes and hollered like older siblings.

What I would give to have that again.

I was selected to be a Prefect. I thought about handling that responsibility, it used to be a goal of mine. I was respected enough, well liked; I could keep the young ones in line. But that all changed in the course of a single year. And oh how things can change. It hurt having to send the badge back with a politely worded letter to the Headmistress. I simply couldn’t agree to a duty of that magnitude when I myself had no idea what tomorrow would bring, if tomorrow comes at all.

The ride feels longer. Perhaps it is because I am awake for it. The scenery is lost to me. Something I would’ve once taken in with an awed breath, now means as much as window dressing in a department store. My stomach growls just to remind me it’s there. My mouth though, would rather not be used as a means to fill it. There hasn’t been a meal I’ve eaten to the fullest, not in the months since. Every scent is acutely stronger to me now, I now can perfectly recall the first time I ate such foods and whom I dined with. They are one in the same. I cannot separate them now.

I haven’t had a glass of pumpkin juice since. I doubt I ever will.

The muggle phrase I’ve heard so often in a joking manner now takes on a whole new and bitter meaning with no room for laughs. The struggle is real. It is every day.

It is darkening by the time the train finally stops. My memory no longer needs to fill the void in my ears as there are others shuffling out of their cars. There are excited First Years, with bright wide eyes and a pep in their step, excited to catch the sights like I once did eight years previous. From the Second Years’ and up though, it is a different manner in which they carry themselves. Careful, reserved, cautious. How terrifying it must’ve been for those delicate First Years’ to enter Hogwarts and be thrust right into the middle of a war? I see myself in some of their eyes. Those are eyes no child should ever have.

Young as they are, I pray that this year brings them peace and happiness, enough to wash away the blight that the Dark Lord’s doing brought unto them.

There is a commotion once I step off the train. Awed voices.

My curiosity piqued, I turn to see where everyone is gathering. They are actually going in the direction required: to the carriages, but for some odd reason, there is a cacophony of alarm and shock. I am reaching for my wand before enough of the crowd parts and I see why.

Hagrid welcomes the children with open arms, as usual. The man brings such warmth that it is like a beacon of sunlight in my grey skies. His voice carries loud and clearly, explaining what everyone is seeing, and what, blessedly, some aren’t.

Thestrals.

What I had always assumed was a myth now stands before me in the flesh.

What I once took for granted as enchanted carriages have actually been pulled by these magnificent and terrifying beasts for years. Years longer than my own life and then some. In my fourth year I recall the lesson Hagrid taught us in his Magical Creatures class on them, thinking it was nonsense cooked up by Luna Lovegood but then too in the looks from Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott. Something about them tickled the hairs on the back of my neck into thinking they were actually seeing something I was not. That I had been blessed with not experiencing firsthand at that point.

For only those who have seen Death can see the fabled Thestrals.

And I have seen my fair share of it, more than someone my age should. More than someone my age is supposed to ever see in their lifetime. More than what will ever be deemed necessary. More than it should’ve taken to put an end to HIM. It was Cedric Diggory’s demise that granted Harry Potter his sight of them upon returning for Fifth Year.  
I stand there, a twist in my chest as I mentally amend my list of why Hogwarts is different this year, and I’m not even inside the building yet. My feet slowly bring me closer to join the others. I’ve come this far haven’t I? Why should I be put off by the sight of these reptilian, dragon-winged equines of bad omen?

Emitting shrills rather than whinnies, I am first alarmed that I can hear them now too. Several students back away in fright, naturally, the creatures look like reanimated Pegasus corpses with a dangerous beak instead of a soft muzzle. The sight of them is enough to guarantee nightmares. How many will need a calming draught tonight, I wonder. I’ve already used far more than one my age should, if I’m to partake in having any more, I need a more concentrated dose. The sights of these, while unnerving, will not be my sole reason for not getting any sleep tonight.

Strangely beautiful, I should say, if one were to ask me. No one does though. The flickering lights from the torches illuminates their black skin into shades of the deepest browns and purples, like that of “black” animals in the sunlight. They prance on hooved feet and behave in every sense, equine. One rears, flapping its majestic leathery wings and I am taken back by its power and grace.

Hagrid soothes the startled animal. They are not used to such attention. Never before in the history of Hogwarts have they ever been paid attention to by more than a handful at once, if that. Hagrid, obviously, being their caretaker, is said to have the largest domesticated herd in the UK. He sees beauty in all things, especially the misunderstood and feared. Much like himself. Being half-giant, there are those that automatically raise defense while in his presence. Had Hagrid possessed even a shred of darkness in him, he would be a mighty foe.

He is the gentlest soul I know, and I am grateful the war did not consume him in it. I don’t think I would’ve been able to step on the train had I known I’d never see his jovial face, hear that boisterous laughter, and be embraced in that soul-warming hug. Which I have not yet, but my attention is focused on the dark steeds before me. The crowds have thinned now that the shock is over with some of the young ones being too frightened to approach or were whisked away by their upperclassmen.

With enough space now, Hagrid sees me, calls my name and ambles over. I am immediately enveloped in the most comforting bear hug of my life, feet lifted off the ground despite my height. He still smells faintly of freshly turned soil, tea and the familiar blend of his pipe. That one and only Hagrid scent. The world is blessed to have this man. We share that hug until tears threaten my eyes, which he somehow sensed before my breath even hitched to hold them back. Before I know it my feet are back on the ground and my hand is brought up to the Thestral’s face to be sniffed, much like you would with a normal horse.

The animal acknowledges me and lowers its head so that I may pet it. Without fur, its skin is taunt and leathery. Not entirely unpleasant. Like petting a large hairless cat. A cat that could easily sever my hand from my arm with one well-placed chomp with that imposing talon tipped beak of its face. I do my best to show no fear, give it reverence and live to write another day as I explore this strange new being into my already expansive world of magic.

I thought that I had seen and learned enough to not be taken in by surprises, but my jaded and cynical eyes have been awakened once more. The dark steeds are not evil; they are just another creature of wonder in a world filled with magic. It isn’t my place to judge them solely on the nature of their appearance, or the terrible price it is to pay in order to behold them. They are not responsible for that.

Carriages fill and disperse, leaving the last one behind for me to join.

In a sense, I do not want to venture on any further. Hogwarts itself is a mausoleum more than a school. More ghosts have been joined its halls, ghosts I do not wish to see. But I set a goal; I made a promise to my parents. I at least need to set my foot in the Great Hall once again. I fought a bloody war with less hesitation than this.

Hagrid clamps a beefy hand onto my shoulder, patting it and nodding on, signaling that I’ve tallied long enough. The Thestral also seems to acquiesce by tossing its head back and shimmying, as if it had a mane to toss. My moment of reverie is over. This is the crossroad. I nod back to the groundskeeper, taking one tentative step at a time. I’m more nervous than I was in my first year. It must be palpable, Hagrid walks with me like a protective father, hand still on my shoulder as an anchor to keep my feet from bolting out from underneath me into the opposite direction.

It’ll be okay, he proclaims. Hard, yes, but one day at a time, it will get better. The man is wiser than most give him credit for. He opens the carriage door for me, just two other students residing within that seem as hesitant as I to return. That itself is a small relief. I knew I’m not the only one but until I see it in the faces of two Seventh Year students, I finally have felt like it’s alright to not be totally sure of myself. The Muggle phrase, ‘it’s ok to not be ok’ rings in my ears. The words feel like a thick warm comforting blanket draped across my weary shoulders.

I take that step into the carriage, my body seemingly to move in slow motion. After one last look to Hagrid, a look of reassurance, he closes the door and carriage jerks forward, my body swaying with the inertia. Every fiber of my being is practically vibrating with anxiety. The anticipation of what I’ll see when I enter the castle is almost enough to make me sick. If I had anything in my stomach, it would be on the floor now.

Both the seventh year students look at me. My face must be broadcasting my unease to alarming levels. As if my clenched white knuckles and short breaths were no indicator. I wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear my heart beating too. I am practically deafened by it. I lick my dry lips and swallow the hard knot in my throat. This journey is hard enough just having been months after the battle and the terrifying ordeal of being in a castle sieged by Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, harder now that I am making this journey alone.

What I would give for a hand to hold-

Suddenly, I feel a hand grasp onto mine, shocking my eyes wide open and giving pause to my frantic heart. I turn to see if I am merely imagining it, and I am not. There is a real hand holding mine, eyes looking into mine, silently telling me that they understand. It’s enough to ease the rush of blood in my veins and the pounding in my ears, it’s enough to calm the storm in my mind, and it’s the most welcomed act in the world, second to Hagrid’s hug.

The Thestrals made it all too real, but the comfort found with another student is what gave me the courage to carry on. Had I not had that hand on mine, I might not have had the fortitude to soldier forth. Others might look to me as an example to follow; the war veteran, the Prefect candidate who turned down the role, the one who helped save the wizarding world, but little acts like these are my saving grace. I too, will need a hand to hold.

We’re all in this together. One day at a time.


End file.
